Christmas in Vegas
by sarapals with past50
Summary: A short story for Christmas, a some point along the GSR timeline when Grissom and Sara worked the holiday.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: A short one for the season...enjoy!**_

 **Christmas in Vegas**

 **Chapter One**

As Gil Grissom moved through the store, listening to the ubiquitous Christmas music playing, he realized how unfamiliar he was with—with all of it. The music, the tinsel and lights, brightly colored ornaments, fake snow, everything in the colors of bright red, gaudy green, shiny silver, brassy gold, an occasional garish lime—not a real flower or plant in the store.

He knew why his mother had taken a Christmas cruise every year for a decade—maybe longer; he couldn't remember.

At work, someone always put up an artificial tree and lights were strung up in several places but he barely noticed. And the artificial year-round neon lights of Vegas made holiday decorations almost invisible—or added another layer of forged gaiety while losing one's life savings in the casinos.

A woman wearing a festive vest and a name tag appeared in front of him asking, "Could I help you find something?"

He appeared lost; he was lost.

"Paper—wrapping paper."

She pointed, saying, "Over there, four aisles—can't miss it."

Four aisles and he found a thousand tubes of wrapping paper. He muttered a swear word as he pulled one roll from the rack. Silver with red dots; it would work.

In ten minutes he was in his vehicle with time to spare.

For the next twenty-four hours, he would be on duty, supervisor in charge of the Las Vegas lab from Christmas Eve to Christmas day. It wasn't a bad shift; usually a quiet time with minimum staff and work was slow. The previous year had been abnormally quiet with only one call-out on Christmas day. Maybe this year would be the same.

Pulling into a small parking lot, he got out and then noticed the place was packed with customers. On Christmas Eve, the best bakery in Vegas, he sighed, pulling his coat together and zipping it before opening the door.

The aroma of Christmas hit his nose immediately. He had no idea what made the bakery smell as it did but he remembered it from childhood. He'd placed an order weeks ago and found the 'pick-up line' short and fast. Twenty minutes later, he was driving to work with boxes of cookies, pastries, cupcakes, and candy sitting on the back seat.

His arms filled with boxes of goodies and the roll of wrapping paper, he entered the building and knew instantly it would not be a quiet shift.

The Santa Claus being dragged down the hall by four uniforms was his first clue.

Leaving one of his boxes at the front desk where a woman from day shift was talking on the phone, he pushed into the lab.

Second clue of glass breaking and at least four machines sounding off confirmed his premonition.

Before he reached his office, Jim Brass was headed in his direction, papers in one hand, a finger on his right hand held up in an effort to halt his progress. Instead of opening Grissom's office door, Jim took the four bakery boxes and waited.

The detective said, "It's a mess out there and it's only three o'clock on Christmas eve."

After opening the door, Grissom deposited the wrapping paper behind his desk as Brass placed boxes on the top of it. Discreetly, he slipped a small box from his jacket pocket into a drawer where two other small boxes were tucked among a collection of seldom used office supplies.

Wrapping would have to wait, he thought.

"Happy to see you're in the holiday spirit," Brass said as he lifted one of the boxes to his nose. "Freed's—the best in town—I'm impressed."

Grissom smirked, saying, "It's Christmas. We're working."

"Yeah. Santa took a baseball bat to his roommate who is in the morgue now. That Santa won't be making merry for a while."

"Anything else?"

Brass held out papers. "This just in—two deaths in a house on Popular. Neighbors smelled gas. Old couple—once they were found, responding officer retreated to wait on your guys."

Taking the report, Grissom glanced over the top page. He asked, "Is Sara here? I've got her and two from swing for twenty-four hours."

"You going to be spread thin—got another body—suspicious—over at the Tangiers. Gun is there beside the body." Brass raised his eyebrows as he said, "Can we hope for a suicide?"

Shaking his head, Grissom left his office followed by the detective who said, "Tell me if you need my help—otherwise, I've got paperwork and a nice bottle in my desk."

Grissom chuckled. "Why do we always work holidays?"

"Because we have no home life—we have no life except for work. We don't have a wife nor a girlfriend. Everyone else—well, except for Sara—has someone. Catherine's off with her father, mother, and kid. Nick went to Texas. Greg—who knows where he is—probably skiing Mount Everest."

As they came to the point to take separate hallways, Grissom said, "Speak for yourself—I have a life" and chuckled as he headed toward the break room.

For a moment, Brass looked confused and then shook his head and headed to his office.

Grissom found the three investigators in the break room and after the usual greetings of the season, he assigned the newest guy, Neil, to the murdering Santa. Sara got the dead couple and Todd, an investigator who had been around for a while, got the Tangiers body.

"Check things out—I'm here if you need help." He nodded to the two guys as they left the room.

Sara, hanging back from the others, said softly, "How many years have we worked this holiday? We should surprise everyone next year—put in for vacation."

Grinning, he agreed. "I brought in some—some cookies and pastries for everyone."

"Well, look at you! Getting into the spirit! Next thing I know, you'll have a tree in your condo! Good for you." She winked and smiled, "Save a few of those cookies with the jam in the middle for me, okay?"

He stood in the same spot for several minutes; she'd never mentioned a tree, not once.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading! This one is a short story-three chapter!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thanks for reading!**_

 **Christmas in Vegas**

 **Chapter 2**

Sara Sidle arrived at the house on Popular Street, one of the old neighborhoods in Vegas with neat yards and small houses built five or six decades ago. One uniformed policeman stood near the front door. A fire truck was still parked at the curb.

A small artificial wreath was hung on the door; not much else indicated the season. Next door, the yard was decorated with a blow-up Santa and reindeer. Across the street, even in the afternoon, multi-colored twinkling lights covered several bushes, hung along the porch and surrounded windows.

The policeman greeted her with "Hi, Sara! I was hoping it'd be you."

She recognized him from two previous investigations; new, young, a little eager to please. "Jake—how are you? What's inside?"

He held up two fingers, saying, "The neighbors called in a gas smell. Gas company and fire guys got here, turned off the gas at the street, and tried to rouse the couple who lives here. When we arrived, neighbor had a key." He stopped a moment, shaking his head. "House was filled with gas—one look, I knew they were gone. One of the fire guys tried for a pulse before realizing—they—they were cold."

"Did you…" Sara pulled on gloves as Jake interrupted her.

"No, no! I—I backed out! The fireman only touched the man on his neck." The young man smiled, saying, "I remembered my training, got out and called you—called CSI."

Nodding, Sara opened the door; Jake started to follow her, seemed to remember he should remain at the door and stepped back.

"I'll call if I need you," Sara said, adding "Thanks."

The smell of gas permeated the first room, a neat living room filled with worn furniture Sara had seen before in homes of elderly. Two recliners, one with a beige cushion flattened from wear, were in front of an old box television set; a table between the chairs was oddly free of the usual bits and pieces of life. Glancing around, there was no newspapers, no mail, no recent photographs. The kitchen, with a small table in the center of the floor, was clean, strangely absent of anything indicating people lived here. A blackened coffee pot sat next to the stove and smelled of recent use.

She paused long enough to take several photographs of the old fashioned stove and the large box of matches next to it.

Passing a bedroom and bathroom, she found an old man and woman, both dressed in faded pajamas, on a narrow bed in the last bedroom. As Sara walked around the bed, she noticed coffee cups, one on the table beside the bed. The other was still in the old man's hand. Both cups were empty. Slowly, carefully, she took a series of photos.

The woman's feet were covered by a blanket; hands were folded as if she'd gone to bed and fell asleep. The old man's head was on a pillow, fallen to one side. She noted a small amount of dark liquid, probably vomit, spotted his pajamas. He too appeared to have gone to sleep.

On the table nearest the man, she found a folded paper. Written in scratchy print on lined note paper, she read the letter of a ninety-one year old man who had been caring for his wife, a woman with dementia. For eleven years, he had managed their daily lives until he had become so frail he could no longer do what was needed to keep both of them in their house. He decided it was time to end their lives by drinking coffee laced with several prescribed medications and turning on the gas.

Biting her lip to keep her emotions checked, she carefully placed the note back on the table. Sighing, she looked around the room. A photograph of a young couple, he in uniform, was on the wall next to an old dresser. Two old and stained hats were on top of a chest along with keys, a knife, a few coins, and a wallet. Opening the wallet, she found a driver's license, several other cards, and thirty-seven dollars.

Six bottles of prescription medications were lined along the back of the chest. She lifted each one, finding three empty. Just in case, something was found later, she took several photographs of the bottles before pulling an evidence bag from a pocket and placing the bottles inside.

The room was sad—depressing—and still reeked of gas. Her eyes watered—from irritation, she decided.

Pulling out her phone, she almost called the coroner's number, thought better of it, and walked back outside where Jake was standing guard.

The young man turned, alert, his eyes inquisitive, when she opened the door.

"The gas smell—I needed a breath," she said. "Did you notice the note by the bed?"

"No—no, I got out. Talked to the neighbor across the street who had a key."

Sara nodded. "Looks deliberate." She didn't want to say 'murder/suicide'. "Did the neighbor mention when she'd seen him?"

"Two days ago—he was at the mailbox. She was worried about him, offered him coffee but he said he needed to get back to his wife. Said the wife hadn't been—she thought the wife had Alzheimer's."

Again, Sara nodded as she called the coroner's office. A few minutes later, she said, "I'm going to—ah—I'm going to walk around the house. The coroner should be here soon."

"This is my first one—murder suicide."

Reaching out, she patted his shoulder. "From his note, he—he made the decision. He wanted to die at home—with her."

"Family?"

She shook her head. "In the note, he said they didn't have any family left."

He nodded, a brief grimace almost made it to his face before he frowned and said, "It's sad, isn't it? But he chose—I—I don't think his wife knew—she wouldn't know, would she? Not if she had Alzheimer's, right?"

Sara did not know how to respond, so she patted his shoulder again and took a long walk around the house, finding an unkempt back yard, several dilapidated chairs, a broken swing hanging from a tree, a stack of cracked flower pots and overgrown flower beds. Standing in the middle of the yard, she noticed a nearly-buried brick path, intertwined like laces on a shoe, and then found an abandoned bird bath toppled from its pedestal.

Carefully, she wiped away dirt, grime, and weeds to discover an intricate design; flowers and vines had been carved around the base. Reaching for the oval-shaped bowl, she turned it over, again wiping away grime until she could see a faded blue colored surface shaped like an open flower.

Remaining where she was, pivoting on the ball of her foot, she saw the yard, not as it was, but as it had been. Someone's garden, lovingly tended, flower beds filled with fragrance, meandering paths, comfortable chairs, a bench underneath a tree, a fruit tree espaliered along the fence. Her tears surprised her; quickly, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and stood.

A few minutes later, she rounded the corner of the house in time to see the coroner's van back into the driveway. Her recent reaction in the yard was pushed away as she helped David with the two bodies, but later, as she headed back to the lab, she made a quick decision.

This was Vegas, she thought. A person could find anything—buy anything—twenty-four hours a day. The second place she stopped, she found what she wanted. Traffic wasn't bad so she made another stop, placed her purchase in the most conspicuous spot in the condo, and arrived back at the lab before anyone—meaning Gilbert Grissom—noticed she had disappeared for an hour.

 _A/N: We'd love to know who is reading this story! A comment, a review, a shout out? Thanks!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: A new chapter! This one is short-and will be finished by Christmas!**_

 **Christmas in Vegas**

 **Chapter 3**

By midnight, work in the lab had calmed to the whirring and clicking of machines, the soft tap of fingers on keyboards, the rustle of papers as evidence was placed into files.

Gil Grissom, showing everyone he had the holiday spirit, brought boxes of cookies, pastries, and candies into the break room and stayed around, eating cookies and drinking spiced tea someone had prepared. He picked out four cookies with jam centers and placed them on Sara's napkin. She smiled and met his eyes, briefly, as he moved a chair so he was directly across the table from her.

One-third of the usual lab employees were scheduled to work on this holiday and it appeared all smelled cookies and tea at the same time. During the next hour, the group swelled and decreased in number as they talked about cases, recent as well as several from past holidays, until most of the sweets were gone. Reluctant to return to work, conversations turned to Christmas stories, favorite memories and experiences as children, wishes granted, and dreams fulfilled.

Grissom noticed Sara's participation was one of agreement, of laughter at funny stories, but she did not share one memory of Christmas. Once, as several people laughed loudly at a story of a gift gone wrong, he moved his foot so it touched hers. Without looking in his direction, she smiled.

Dawn came and a comfortable quietness settled in—for thirty minutes, and then everyone's phone buzzed at the same time.

Jim Brass stuck his head into the break room, saying "4-0-7 and multiple 4-2-9's happening right now at Golden Nugget!"

Four officers were out the door before Grissom questioned, "4-2-9? Indecent exposure? It's barely dawn—on Christmas day!"

He and the three investigators left immediately, following the police cruisers to the Golden Nugget casino where every law enforcement officer on duty seemed to arrive at once. An all-night light show had kept the area around the casino filled with tourists of all ages and venders selling everything from almonds roasted with cinnamon to zucchini fritters and every kind of noise making toy, gaudy hats, and balloons.

In the casino, chaos ensued for half an hour until Jim Brass, with his excellent organization skills, divided tourists and employees, assigned officers to interview, and turned the cashier cages and security tapes over to the four CSIs and hotel security. Grissom divided his team into tasks required for robberies.

An hour passed before Brass stuck his head over Sara's shoulder and asked, "Where's Gil?"

Her head moved left as she said, "Looking at security tapes." She laughed, "This has got to be the most bizarre robbery of the year!"

"Yeah—that's not all—let's meet in the restaurant. Back corner in five."

By the time everyone working the case got coffee, another ten minutes had passed before Brass could began describing the robbery and the four—or was it six—female perpetrators of the attempted robbery of the casino cages. Hopefully, they had identified at least four—maybe six—women who had been in the casino wearing bright Christmas sweat shirts, moving between slot machines and blackjack tables, never touching anything, blending in with the crowd. Security tapes showed several women had entered different ladies room and reappeared, with ball caps over short hair and over-size shirts, mingling with an Asian tour group. A few seconds later, four of the women, stripped of shirts, wearing nothing but pastel colored panties and matching bras—or perhaps they were different colors—were standing in front of the cages, passing notes to the cashiers.

At the same time, more women—at least four—appeared on the casino floor, all dressed in nothing but panties and bras. No witness could clearly identify one of the scantily dressed women. And every witness had a different number of people participating in the robbery. The only obvious clue was—they were all women.

Due to quick alarms and slow reactions of the cashiers, less than one thousand dollars had been taken from the cages before the four women ran.

And as confusing as the robbery and descriptions of the robbers had been, it became more confusing as fire alarms had been pulled, smoke poured from one of the ladies restrooms, and the robbers had—incredible as it sounded—had disappeared. Vanished. Scattered in three directions, around corners, quickly blending into dozens of tourists curious about alarms and smoke; women wearing panties and bras had disappeared as fast as they had arrived.

Even parking garage cameras were of no use; only a few cars had exited by the time police arrived and would have to be tracked. But no person or groups of people leaving in vehicles appeared to match faces of the female robbers which turned the search inward to the casino hotel.

Sara dropped her head as the discussion continued; they wouldn't be out of here for hours, she thought. Two thousands rooms, over four thousand guests; who, she wondered, came to Vegas for Christmas. A rhetorical question, she knew.

Hotel security had managed to print a dozen large photographs from video tapes that everyone passed around. Women with dark hair wearing ball caps by the dozen, but women wearing only panties and bras…

Sara counted nine, then back-tracked to count again and realized every woman wore the same color and style of bra; panties differed slightly.

When she pointed this out, Todd, using a series of photos taped to the wall began to circle bras. Eleven women in bikini-style panties and push-up bras had stolen about a thousand dollars from one of the oldest casinos in Vegas. On Christmas Day.

A few minutes later, Grissom motioned for Sara to follow him.

Out of the restaurant, he said, "Let's take evidence back to the lab—talking isn't going to solve this robbery."

Together, they piled boxes and bags into her vehicle as she congratulated herself for unloading her earlier purchases.

By three o'clock, when their twenty-four hour holiday shift was officially over, no real progress had been made on the robbery. Numerous officers had theories but evidence wasn't there. There was not one clue.

Grissom leaned over Sara's work, softly saying, "Go home—this isn't going to be solved anytime soon. I'll go over everything with the day supervisor and be there soon."

When she gave him a doubtful look, he grinned, saying "Soon, promise."

Sara left knowing 'home' was an indeterminate state for her. Her apartment was where most of her things were—possessions she didn't use or need on a daily basis. Her clothing—what she usually wore—resided in a closet and drawers in Grissom's condo. Which is where he called home and she said she "stayed with him"—most of the time.

She made a quick stop at her apartment, grimacing at the small wreath she'd hung on her door. Not quite as pitiful as the plastic wreath on the door where the old couple had lived, but almost. Inside, she picked up a holiday gift bag and two items from her refrigerator, turned around, and was back in her car in five minutes.

When she pulled into Grissom's parking garage, she was not surprised to find his parking space empty. Hoping for a few minutes before he got home, she hurried inside.

The plant was where she'd left it; a two-foot tall holly trimmed to the shape of a Christmas tree, including small red ribbon bows tied among its sticky leaves. It really didn't look like a Christmas tree and it had no lights but she added two candy canes and three wrapped gifts around the table. She'd gotten Grissom a book she knew he wanted to read, a music CD, and—she'd stretched her budget—purchased a watch he'd admired.

She had one more gift but that was all fun and for later—after a shower and before they slept. She giggled as she thought of the look on Gil Grissom's face when he saw that present—especially after today.

Another hour passed without Grissom. Finally, Sara got in the shower and—of course—he arrived.

 _ **A/N: Thank you for reading and helping to keep GSR alive in fanfiction! We appreciate hearing from all of you!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: We said it would be short-it is. We said this one would be finished before Christmas-it is with this chapter! Thank you for reading, thank you for reviewing! Now-to all the readers out there-we are asking for you to give us a quick 'gift' of a comment/review/hey there! (We see the numbers for readers, so, make our day-15 seconds is all it takes!)**_

 _ **AND May you have the merriest of holidays! And wherever Grissom and Sara are today, we know they are happy!**_

 **Christmas in Vegas**

 **Chapter 4**

It had taken longer—or perhaps in his haste, it seemed to take hours longer than usual; finally—home and Sara's car in his garage.

As soon as he opened the door, he heard the shower running. And the first thing he noticed was the Christmas holly on the table.

Grinning, he brought in his 'tree' and placed it on the bookcase, moving it several times so he could plug in the lights. He'd asked for decorations and the florist had not disappointed—dozens of small ornaments of Santa Claus, bells, deer, dogs, and snowmen hung from the tree.

Working quickly, he placed several wrapped gifts around the tree in a similar manner to the arrangements Sara had done; then he headed to the bathroom.

He'd learned to announce his arrival—once, he'd surprised her while she was in the shower and had almost gotten a black eye from a bottle of shampoo—so, he knocked before opening the door and saying:

"I'm home, dear! Merry Christmas!"

His reward was her laugh and her response, "Join me!"

Which he did and, combined with the steaming water, it did not take long for heat to penetrate every pore—and heightened sensitivity in every cell. Sara's eyes widened with his caresses as he pulled her into an embrace, and for long minutes, they both relaxed for the first time in hours, holding the other up as water cascaded over their shoulders. Then his hands were moving over her body, stroking firmly with his palm, changing to feather-light touches with his fingers.

Everywhere he touched, Sara felt waves of intense relief followed by deep pleasurable ache. His open-mouth kisses coaxed and stroked her skin, lifting her so his mouth closed over her breast, his hand slipped to the base of her spine and along the cleft of her butt.

Her body clenched as his fingers searched, arousing, gossamer-light, and in sudden urgency, she shifted and he was inside her. Easy and deep, tender and thrilling, she sensed her pending orgasm—rushing to satisfy desire. Balancing one foot on the floor, her leg wrapped tightly around Grissom's thighs, she felt his measured thrusts and tighten around him, hands pressed into his muscles as his climax erupted, along with a deep growl coming from his throat.

Panting, gently, Grissom pushed her against the tile wall, still buried inside her, as he placed a hand on the wall and dropped his head to her shoulder.

Sara's fingers threaded through his wet hair. Softly, she giggled and then said, "That was" a long sigh, "worth the wait."

Fifteen minutes later, a pink-skinned Grissom stood, towel wrapped around his waist, in front of a mirror, where he and Sara appeared as a damp mirage between water drops. He stepped toward the door, realized Sara had, as usual, brought nothing into the bathroom to wear, and reached for his flannel bathrobe hanging behind the door.

"Here," he said as he wrapped it around her shoulders and helped her slide arms into its sleeves. Slowly, he pushed her wet hair away from her face, reached for another towel, and placed it around her head. In appreciation of his gesture, Sara leaned against his shoulder, kissing and nuzzling his neck as he did the same.

For a few minutes, they stood quietly, breathing the scent of their own making, enjoying the intimacy they had created. Sara recognized a softer side of her lover that few people were ever allowed to see. She knew he cared for her, loved her in a way that could be intense and, in her secret thoughts, could be frightening.

Finally, Grissom said, "We should celebrate Christmas—I mean—gifts—surprises."

Sara smiled, saying, "Surprises are good—Christmas surprises are good."

While he pulled on pants and a shirt, she toweled her hair into damp curls and pulled it back with a clip, deciding to wear his bathrobe for awhile.

When she saw the tree he had brought in, she cried. "Happy tears," she insisted as she touched its fragrant needle-like leaves, releasing the aroma of woodsy rosemary. "And real ornaments—I—I don't remember having ornaments!"

Grissom smiled. He said, "We'd decided not to get a tree—we were working! And then we both got one."

"Well, I got a holly bush."

"This one is a rosemary bush."

Sara kissed his cheek and said, "It was the old couple—they—they had each other." She touched one of the small ornaments before continuing, "Their yard was overgrown, neglected, but at one time, it had been a beautiful garden. I could see it—and I wanted us to have something like that—together."

Grissom beamed; pleased beyond words for a long moment. He said, "Open the big one."

"Why did you get one? A tree?"

Chuckling, he said, "You mentioned one as you left the lab—and I—I thought—it's Christmas. We could have a live one—we—we can use it." He picked up the wrapped box and placed it on the countertop.

Inside the large box was a glass terrarium containing several succulent plants. "Perfect," Sara said.

Grissom insisted she open another one before he did. A book for her; a book for him came next. And, thinking alike, living together more often than not, both had gotten music for each other, causing laughter as they playfully argued over which one to play first.

"Are you hungry? Before the next one, do you want to eat?" asked Sara.

With a smile spreading across his face, Grissom shook his head. "No—I'd rather open my present." He placed his last gift in front of her. "You first."

The small flat box held a delicate gold chain with small spheres of gold hanging from the chain. Sara's intake of breath was enough to show her approval. Yet astonishment was his as he opened the box containing the watch.

"How'd you know? I've never mentioned…"

"Twice you spent longer than usual reading the fine print in one of the ads." She grinned, saying, "I noticed."

As he lifted the watch from its box, he said, "Made in the U.S.A."

She waited while he did a close examination, then took it and fastened it around his wrist. He kept smiling as he placed the necklace around her neck, kissing her afterwards.

He said, "This is the best Christmas I've had in years," as he kissed her again.

A few minutes later, Sara said, "Food and I have one more surprise for you."

Grinning with pleasure and a secret, she opened the refrigerator and placed a vegetarian antipasto platter—peppers, cheeses, olives, tomatoes, roasted nuts—on the counter space followed by a bowl of cut-up fruits and chocolate sauce.

Grissom, thinking this was her 'surprise', hugged her, saying, "You've done too much!"

It took a while to satisfy their appetites and to reexamine each gift. Yet neither moved far from the other's reach.

But food was not Sara's secret. While Grissom cleaned up the remnants of their meal, she slipped into the bathroom, shed the old flannel robe, and put on her final 'gift'. Pulling his robe back on, she walked back into the kitchen where Grissom had closed the blinds, darkening the room, so the lights on the tree provided a soft glow.

"I could move it to the living room," he said.

Sara shook her head, saying, "It's perfect where it is—and it's time we got some sleep." She fanned the collar of the robe. "And I have one more gift for you." Smiling, she turned and headed into the bedroom.

At the tone of her voice, and an unexpected sound muffled by the robe, Grissom's expression changed to one of surprise. He dropped the kitchen towel and followed.

Sara kept the robe tightly closed while brushing her teeth and folding back covers on the bed. She turned off all lights in the bedroom except for one lamp and when Grissom crawled into bed, she mumbled an excuse and returned to the bathroom, closing the door.

A minute later, she opened the door and walked back into the bedroom, silhouetted by the light from the bathroom.

Grissom had stretched out on the bed, plumped his pillow, folded his arm underneath his head, and waited.

When Sara opened the door, he had to blink several times to bring her into focus—or more accurately, convince his eyes and brain of the vision before him as Sara walked slowly toward the bed.

"Oh!" More of an explosion of breath than a vocal expression as his eyes took in the woman he loved; her skin seemed to glow—dressed in diaphanous panties and bra adorned with three red bows carefully placed on the small triangles of fabric. With each step, he heard the ting of tiny bells attached to the bra.

Sara crawled over him, one leg on either side so she straddled him. As she leaned to touch his lips, he found his voice, whispering, "Now I know why not one witness could describe those women."

With an artful stroke of his fingertip against the thin fabric between her legs, Sara knew sleep would be postponed for a while longer.

The End!

 _ **A/N: Again, thank you for your support and encouragement with our writing! As 2017 comes to a close, we hope everyone can look forward to a healthy and safe 2018.**_


End file.
